


Wounds Made By No Weapon

by amyfortuna



Series: 2015 Season of Kink (Card 1) [22]
Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Biting, Crying, Discipline, Hand Jobs, Insults, M/M, Punishment, Rough Kissing, Roughness, Spanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-04
Updated: 2015-07-04
Packaged: 2018-04-07 15:09:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,662
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4267911
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amyfortuna/pseuds/amyfortuna
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Beleg goes to extraordinary lengths to persuade Turin to return with him to Menegroth.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wounds Made By No Weapon

**Author's Note:**

> Dedicated to the enabling nonnies on FFA who provided the inspiration for this. 
> 
> Fills my Season of Kink bingo square for 'punishment' very nicely (although I must confess I just wrote this on pure desperate need to see it alone and only after it was finished realised it would fit one of my squares).

What more could Beleg do? Tracking Turin down had been hard enough. Being tied to a tree and starved by Turin's rough band of outlaws had been an unexpectedly cruel shock to the system at the end of his search. 

Turin's stubbornness and refusal to return with him, well, that was a twist of the knife in already bleeding wounds, wounds made by no weapon. 

He had tried almost everything. He thought, at first, that passing on the message would be enough - _you are pardoned, freely forgiven, return to the home where you have lived in happiness for so many years, return to the friends who miss you and love you_ \- but Turin, as though wounded himself, though by what Beleg could not understand, had refused the message, rejected the pardon. 

He had tried gentle persuasion, then. Had talked of happier times, of their friends - but Turin's memory seemed all clouded and dim, as if he could only recall slights and insults. Not the generosity of Thingol or the wisdom of Melian. Not how kind Mablung had been to him, all his life. Not Nellas at all. Turin had seemed to value these acquaintances of a few days, these low, rough Men, outlaws even among their own kind, who feared him rather than cared for him, far more than he valued those who really did love and care for him. 

Finally, Beleg had fallen almost to begging him, pleading him to remember, to return, growing short-tempered and irritated - he, who had lived years uncounted before the fathers of Turin's fathers had awoken under the new Sun, to be so irritated by this boy of barely twenty summers! - and finally ending their conversation with a snappish remark about almost feeling that Elves and Men should not meet or mingle at all, before stalking off into the woods to calm down. 

The calm that he sought was not easy to come by, any longer, and Beleg threw himself back against the trunk of a tree, leaning against it, exhaling forcefully, having traipsed through the woods for miles and grown no more peaceful in it, although the day was lovely and the birds sang in the trees. 

Stubborn, unyielding, proud Turin. Foolish, childish Turin. Strong and beautiful, drawing all eyes, Turin was loved despite his faults by all, especially by Beleg. He gave a quieter sigh and thumped his head back against the tree, cursing himself for his own passion. If he cared less about Turin, the road to self-destruction the boy was clearly on would be less full of pain for him. If love would not work to change him from his headlong course, what would? 

Even absorbed as he was in his own thoughts, and quiet as the intruder was taking care to be, Beleg heard the steps on fallen leaves and turned swiftly, arrow at the ready, to face whoever was walking toward him.

It was Turin of course, who raised his empty hands swiftly, saying nothing. Beleg lowered his bow, but narrowed his eyes at the sight of him, still angry. Something in the glittering defiance of his eyes was immeasurably insufferable, and suddenly Beleg had had more than enough. He set the bow aside and sprang at Turin, seizing him by the front of his tunic and pushing him back against a nearby convenient tree, pinning his arms against the tree trunk behind his back. 

"How dare you?" he hissed. At Turin's look of confusion, he went on, unable to stand it anymore, giving vent to everything he had been thinking in the last several hours. "How dare you set at nothing the love and care of your friends in favour of these ruffians? How dare you abandon your duties and your orders to steal away like a thief in the night, and then continue on your course even after you have been told you do not face punishment? How dare you ignore the kindness of your King and the wisdom of your Queen, who have done nought but what is good for you? How dare you abandon the friendship I and others have freely given you, or the love I would offer you, if you were wise enough to accept it?"

Beleg paused for breath and effect, looking into Turin's eyes. Turin looked stunned, still stubborn, but breathless with it. "Love?" he asked quietly. 

"Love, you fool," Beleg said, and kissed Turin hard, almost biting at his lips. Turin gasped underneath him, but Beleg was not done, and drew back. 

"You utter arrogant, stubborn, proud, vain idiot," Beleg said. "You foolish, childish - a man grown you may be, but your actions befit those of one half your age and you deserve nothing better than to be put over my knee and then if you still remain bent on your headlong rush to destruction, to be dragged back to Menegroth by the hair." He suited the action to the word, releasing his hold on one of Turin's shoulders in favour of sliding a hand into his hair, and yanking it back in his fist, hard enough to hurt. Turin's head snapped back, exposing his throat, and Beleg bit roughly at it, drawing a moan from Turin. 

Turin pushed against him with his lower body, and at first Beleg thought that Turin was trying to move away, but then he felt the hardness in his breeches, and realised that far from resisting, this sort of talk, this roughness, was actually what Turin enjoyed. Trust Turin to reject gentle and sweet love in favour of roughness and pain. Beleg pushed back against him, keeping him pinned against the tree, ensuring that he could not move. His hand was still in Turin's hair, slack now, and he stroked it with a tenderness that belied his words. 

"So it's this that fires your blood, is it?" he said, still angry, but intrigued. "To be held down, to have your will taken from you, to be threatened and chided? Would you submit if I carried out my threat to put you over my knee and administer the punishment you deserve and clearly were not given enough when you were younger?" 

Turin looked at him, mouth slightly open, and then he shut his mouth with a snap and nodded frantically, almost desperately. Beleg didn't pause to think about it, but grabbed Turin's pinned arms, and tugged him a few steps away, where a large fallen tree made a convenient bench. He sat down on it and pulled Turin down across his knee, yanking his breeches roughly down. Turin's arms were still behind his back, hands clasped. His head had dropped, hanging limp, as soon as he was put over Beleg's knee, and he was breathing hard in anticipation and arousal. 

Beleg gave Turin very little time to anticipate, smacking his buttocks almost immediately, not sparing him. The first few blows were relatively light and quick, and Turin gasped every time his hand made contact. After the first five, Beleg found a rhythm in it and began to strike harder, rocking Turin up against him with every slap, feeling Turin's erection against his thigh, feeling his own cock growing ever harder with every noise Turin made. Gasps faded into groans, and the groans turned into quiet sobs after a time. Turin's buttocks, pale at first, slowly grew red under the multiple impacts, and Beleg found himself enjoying the sight, covering every inch of him with smack after smack. 

He struck hardest and longest at the base of Turin's arse, near his hole, and more than once, dipped his fingers between to gently tease and press at the surface of it, unable to resist. Turin moaned in open ecstasy whenever he did this and once murmured, "please" under his breath, but Beleg did not take the hint so clearly offered and left him squirming, continuing to spank him. 

Unnumbered smacks later, Turin was openly sobbing, head hanging down, arse red and warm, surrendered and pliant against him. He was still hard against Beleg's thigh. Beleg let the smacks fade into stroking at the abused flesh, calling forth hisses and gasps of pain from Turin. All of Beleg's anger seemed to have melted away, and he felt very tender and loving toward Turin now. His own hand was tingling and pain-reddened, as well, but he hardly felt it, he was concentrating so hard on Turin. 

"Do you yield?" he said, trying to make his voice as stern as it had been before. "Has pain brought you to your senses where reminders of love could not?"

Turin's answer was a quiet sob, and a nod, and Beleg pulled him up into his arms, his head against Beleg's shoulder, tear-stained face buried in Beleg's neck. His breeches were still down around his knees, cock exposed in Beleg's lap, and Beleg put his hand - the same hand that had delivered the spanking - on it, gently stroking it up and down. His hand was so sensitive that he could feel every ridge and vein in Turin's cock and so warm that Turin moaned at the feel of it and thrust into his hand, almost unconsciously. 

As rough and hard as what had been before was, this was gentle and slow. Beleg carefully worked Turin's cock as he gasped and trembled in his arms, until with a long shuddering sigh, Turin came, shaking, head falling back, tear-stained face transported by bliss for a moment as Beleg watched him closely. 

"I will return with you," he said after a long moment, as his breathing slowed, and to Beleg those words were sweeter than ten thousand confessions of love could ever be. He bent down as Turin raised his head, and kissed him, long and slow, a sense of joy and peace spreading throughout his whole body. And yet more - something sang within him, some great sense of disaster averted. 

"That is all I have ever wished for, my Turin," he said, and held him close.


End file.
